


Associates

by Square_Rabbit



Category: Deadbolt (Video Game)
Genre: Conversations, Developing Friendships, Gen, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23720056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Square_Rabbit/pseuds/Square_Rabbit
Summary: The Reaper's job is to collect the souls of the undead. Charon's job is to ferry them to the afterlife. Their roles intertwined, these two coworkers are naturally going to be meeting frequently. While business always comes first for professionals such as themselves, enough time spent can build a sense of camaraderie in any two individuals.
Kudos: 3





	Associates

Down a desolate highway, lined with streetlights that had long since burned out, sped a sleek, vintage car. The driver’s empty eye sockets peered down the road, searching for his next turn amidst the eternal dusk of this Place. Gifted with a vision of the route towards the meeting point, he could make do with just the car’s headlights and the occasional flicker of some streetlight’s dying breaths.

A vague, fragmented half-warmth emanated from the souls he’d collected, swirling gently around him. Drawn to the warmth of his own soul. In exchange for them, Charon would provide him with firearms and other weaponry upon his request. According to their mutual employer, he would be waiting for him at the docks.

The empty, rusted shipping containers and distant cranes marked this as the right place. The car ground to a halt near an abandoned warehouse, and the Reaper stepped out, slamming the door shut. Pulling out his revolver from his winter coat, he watched for movement amidst the empty buildings. He doubted there would be any undead lurking around, however. From experience, the gangs knew better than to venture anywhere near the Ferryman’s patrol route.

Walking past a creaking, rusted chain-link fence, he made his way to the designated pier. Charon was easy to find. The ethereal blue glow of his eyes and lantern shone out like a beacon, starkly contrasting the dim lights that lined the piers. As he approached, Charon raised an arm, palm stretched out towards him.

He felt the surrounding souls drift slowly forwards, as though hesitant. They floated towards the small wooden speedboat bobbing in the River, becoming visible as they settled – pale blue, indistinct silhouettes. By the time the Reaper reached Charon, the souls’ half-warmth was completely gone, leaving only the tepid air of this Place behind.

Charon reached a hand into his coat pocket and withdrew a handful of coins, dropping them into the Reaper’s hands. He examined them. Ancient-looking silver coins, with a worn engraving of a skull embossed in the centre. How appropriate.

“Meet with me here, and you may exchange these coins for my services. I will be notified when you need to do business with me. Bring here the souls you free during your missions, and I will provide more of these coins in exchange.”

The Reaper nodded, pocketing the coins and walking back to the car. Their business was concluded. Charon stood there for a moment longer, perhaps expecting some further remark, before stepping aboard his boat and starting the motor. Bound for the Other Side of the River, Charon set off to deliver the souls to their rightful destinations.

The silver coins clinked in the Reaper’s pocket as he started his car’s engine and pulled back out onto the highway. He would be visiting Charon again before his next mission to look at his selection. For now, though, he would relay the information he’d found on the Ash to his employer.

* * *

The old wood of the dock creaked somewhat ominously under the Ferryman’s weight as he stepped off his boat. The Candles had informed him that the Reaper required his services once again, and so he had halted his patrol of the River and sailed towards the usual meeting point.

He’d almost forgotten what having a reaper around was like, it had been so long. Ever since the last one had… resigned, for lack of a better term, his employer had been hesitant to bring a new one into the fold. With the influx of souls that the Reaper was bringing him between missions, Charon found himself busier than ever. Not that he minded, of course. His job was to ferry souls to their final destination – leaving them to fester in this plane was wasteful to say the least.

His train of thought was interrupted by the distant roar of an engine. Looking up, he saw the Reaper’s car swerve into the dockyard. It was a beautiful machine, he mused, as the Reaper slammed the door shut and began walking towards the meeting point. Nicer than anything the last one had ever been given, certainly. As the Reaper drew closer, Charon raised a hand, drawing the souls towards him and letting them settle in his boat. The Reaper came to a halt in front of him.

The two stood mutely for a moment, this Place’s usual grim silence broken only by the flow of the River beneath them. Finally, the Reaper spoke up.

“A Revenant.”

With that, the Reaper dug into a coat pocket and withdrew a handful of silver coins. Charon let him drop them into his hand and quickly counted them out. The exact amount, as per usual. Satisfied, he nodded and stowed the coins away. Holding up his lantern, Charon opened the glass cover and reached a hand into the blue flame contained within.

He withdrew his hand from the fire, and with it came a large, intimidating revolver. Charon flipped it in his hand, offering the grip to the Reaper. Holstering his own weapon, the Reaper took it into his hands appraisingly.

“Hardly a subtle weapon,” remarked the Ferryman, snapping the lantern’s glass cover shut.

“My next task is to eliminate the leader of the Kingz. He’s no fool – he knows I’m coming. A quiet approach isn’t on the table.” The Reaper spoke absently, staring at the gun as he slowly rotated the chamber of the revolver, before testing its sights on something in the distance. Charon nodded, not that the Reaper was paying him any mind.

The Reaper’s assault on the Zombie Kingz was rapidly coming to an end – he had attacked every important piece of territory the Kingz had a claim on, and their numbers were crippled at this point. The only remaining place of significance the Reaper had yet to come knocking at was Roland’s stronghold itself. He’d be rallying every man he had left for a last stand he knows he has no chance of winning, despite the show he puts on for his followers. As the Reaper said, he was no fool.

With their business concluded, the Reaper wordlessly turned and moved back to his car, stowing his new toy in the trunk with the others. Not one for delays, the Reaper drove away without further comment, doubtlessly on his way to put a permanent end to Roland’s operation.

Charon watched the departing car for a moment, before stepping back onto his boat. The Reaper had his job to do, and Charon had his.

* * *

The Reaper slammed the door open and staggered out, clutching the gunshot wound as best he could with a gun in his hand. He’d been careless. An incubus had caught him off guard – he’d slammed shut the door to break line of sight, but the bullet had pierced through the door. And his shoulder. He returned the favour in kind, though. The vampire had swaggered through the door, confident the shot was lethal. He’d barely enough time to cry out in shock before the Reaper emptied the SMG’s magazine into the bastard’s face.

Reaching the car, the Reaper wheezed as he slid down it into a seated position. He just… just needed a minute to catch his breath. Even outside, the club’s heavy, thumping music drilled its way into his head, exacerbating the headache. His vision was blurring at the edges, and he couldn’t feel or move his left arm. At least he still had a pistol on him. Only need one arm to use that.

He really didn’t want to stay here for long. Awkwardly, he pushed himself up into something resembling a standing position and jerked the car door open. As he moved to get in, however, a voice spoke out from behind him.

“You don’t look to be in any condition to drive.”

The Reaper spun, pistol quickly pointed in the direction of the speaker. Met with the familiar blue glow of Charon’s eyes, he slowly relaxed, plugging the gunshot wound once more.

“Why are you here?” the Reaper strained. “This club is nowhere near your river.”

“The Candles informed me you had been injured. Take a moment and look at yourself – you’re barely standing. I can’t allow you to drive in this condition. It benefits the both of us if you are alive and healthy,” Charon said, “so get in the passenger seat. I will drive you to your apartment, where the Candles can tend to that wound of yours. I trust you found what you were looking for in there?”

The Reaper nodded. The date and address in the envelope he’d found certainly seemed worth bringing to his employer’s attention. As he moved towards the passenger side of the car, he couldn’t help but huff. How long had he been sitting there, if Charon had the time to come here? Sloppy.

He paused. Even through the fuzziness of his headache, something caught his attention. The presence of an undead soul, quickly approaching from within the club. His gaze snapped towards the entrance. Charon clearly noticed, too. He signalled the Reaper to stay put and crept to the side of the door, raising his lantern. When a succubus burst through, likely wanting revenge for her partner’s missing face, Charon harshly swung his lantern down. A dull crunch rang out on impact. As she awkwardly sprawled on the concrete, Charon raised his foot and crushed her head with a sudden, vicious stomp.

Scraping his bloody foot against the curb, Charon gestured for the Reaper to get in the car. Obliging, he opened the door and collapsed into the seat. Charon followed soon after, having to awkwardly hunch down in order to fit under the roof. The Reaper found this much more amusing than it ought to be. Probably the blood loss.

“You will need to provide me directions,” Charon stated, shifting the car into gear. “Stay conscious, will you?”

“Of course,” the Reaper replied.

* * *

The Reaper’s car roared down the familiar route to the docks. According to the Candles, the demon mercenaries were locking Ibzan’s apartment building down. Lots of men, and lots of guns. With the force he was to go up against, he needed something to tip the scales in his favour. His employer had instructed him to meet with Charon, to collect that very something.

Swerving into the dockyard, he parked in the usual spot and made his way to the pier, where Charon awaited. The Ferryman looked up as he approached.

“Ah, Reaper,” he greeted. “I have a feeling you’ll appreciate this one.”

Charon stepped backwards and opened his lantern’s cover. He swept it before him in a slow horizontal arc, leaving behind a thick trail of ethereal blue flame hovering in the air. He reached into it with both hands, the fire dissipating as he pulled out a weapon and dropped it into the Reaper’s hands.

It was an Automatic Grenade Launcher.

“Now, I am giving this to you on a request from our mutual employer,” Charon stated in a commanding tone, “but don’t forget, this is on a loan. I expect it to be returned once your mission is complete."

The Reaper nodded absently. He was keenly inspecting every inch of the weapon, testing its weight in his hands. Charon bent down to eye-socket-level, the blue glow of his eyes reflecting off the Reaper’s skull. The Reaper looked up at him.

“This is by no means an easy weapon to acquire, let alone create. I know that you have a habit of abandoning weapons in the field. Ordinarily, I can replace weapons from my selection with ease. This is the exception. I need it returned.”

Charon leaned closer.

“You are not to lose it. Understood?”

If the Reaper had eyes, he would have rolled them. Nevertheless, he nodded. Charon stared him down for a moment longer, before straightening up and walking to his boat. Boarding it, he started the engine and sailed off to resume his patrol. Reaper hefted the launcher in his arms, before turning and heading back to the car. He would definitely make good use of this.

* * *

“One. I had one simple instruction.”

“It’s still in the building,” the Reaper snapped. “The Candles will find it eventually.”

* * *

Rain was furiously pounding down at the empty streets around him. Charon felt as though he’d fallen in the River himself, as he trudged through the deluge. Finally spotting the dingy-looking apartment block, Charon made his way over to shelter. The stairs creaked in protest as he ascended. Once he reached the fourth floor, he made his way down the corridor, ignoring the various leaks in the roof. Ah, there’s Apartment H. Already knowing that it would be left unlocked, Charon opened the door and ducked under the frame.

The interior of the apartment starkly contrasted its squalid surroundings. The walls had no stains or holes in them, and the ceiling had no leaks. Fine oaken furniture adorned the room. A small chandelier bathed the room in a warm glow. A king-sized bed that would never see any use sat in the corner. Gifts. Charon shook his head, setting his lantern on a table. He noted that the weapon rack was empty – likely all stowed in the trunk of the car, still parked outside the old school building.

The Reaper’s cat meowed accusingly at him from the windowsill, irritated at the downpour keeping it inside. Charon gave it a consolatory scratch behind the ears. He strode towards the large armchair in the centre of the room and sat, taking a moment to appreciate its fine quality. The flames roared to life.

“The surviving demons are fleeing. Attempting to cross back to their side of my River. They’re unaware that the God of Death already knows what they were trying to do behind his back. The ones that I don’t catch will face the full consequences of their treachery,” Charon spoke. Indeed, there were some fates worse than death.

An aura of agreement emanated from the flames.

“Their portal collapsed,  
the surviving undead flee.  
Their plans are torn to tatters,  
and the Reaper lives with me”

Charon leaned back in the chair. Shortly after the Reaper reactivated the crude portal constructed by the Dredged, the entire structure caved in on itself. It likely wasn’t designed for more than one trip. The Tinkerer was eliminated, and his notes reduced to mere ashes, either in the wake of the explosions or the flame of a lighter. There was no chance of the portal being rebuilt. It would be a long time before another mind as great as Timur’s would fall into this Place.

The undead gangs were all but decimated. The Zombie Kingz had fallen apart ever since their leader had been eliminated. There was barely anything left in their place – only a few splintered groups who banded together, and many individuals who chose to strike it out on their own. Both easy to cull. The Royals, meanwhile, ceased most interactions with the other undead as they attempted to rebuild their fallen empire. The only deals going on were either over the bar counter, or under the sheets. As for the Dredged, there were barely any left. Most had left through the portal. The remaining remnants could barely be called a gang, and without a leader they had no goal to work towards.

Even so, Charon was concerned.

“The undead will rise up again if left unchecked,” Charon warned. It had happened before, and it would certainly happen again.

“The goals of undead never change,  
but all are beaten back.  
Like rats, they flee to lick their wounds –  
we needn’t yet attack.”

Charon leaned back once more, rubbing his forehead. While the Reaper was on his… temporary leave, the undead would continue to manifest in this Place. Like weeds. Even so, he knew quite well why his employer had extracted the Reaper from his work for a while. Charon had been around for a long time – longer than any other being residing in this Place. And, well, you couldn’t purchase a Revenant from just anywhere. Mistakes weighed down on even the soul of a god. Regardless, the Reaper would return in time. If nothing else, he was a workaholic. Charon sighed.

“Very well. I will resume my patrol of the River. If any rising undead powers come to my attention, I will inform the Candles.”

There was no reply, but the flames continued to crackle. Charon gazed around the empty apartment for a moment. Abruptly, he stood. Marching to the doorway, he grabbed his lantern from the table, stooping under the doorframe to brave the storm once more.

**Author's Note:**

> I've always liked Charon's design, even if his role in-game amounted to standing around and looking pretty while you shopped. There's a lot of headcanon in this fic, from the coins exchanged for souls (because would the Reaper really be allowed to keep over 600 souls to himself if he didn't feel like buying anything?) to the whole "retrieving guns from the lantern flame" thing. It's a cool concept, right? 
> 
> The interactions between these two were fun to write. Did you leave the Auto Grenade Launcher in the building when you played?
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this little perspective of my personal view on these characters.


End file.
